


Rhapsody Blue

by SunbunSky



Series: We are the music makers [1]
Category: Cardfight!! Vanguard
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bands, Bullying, Childhood, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-11-01 23:25:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10932198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunbunSky/pseuds/SunbunSky
Summary: A song of beginnings.





	Rhapsody Blue

Right before lunch at precisely eleven o’clock, all the students in his grade are rounded up and brought to the school gymnasium. Some follow obediently, others pout and complain about an empty stomach, but all are placed in a single-file line, ordered by last name, to march along the halls and reach their destination. The teachers attempt to shush the chattering between friends, but the children resort to whispering instead, and an unspoken compromise is reached.

He stands toward the end of the line, enough to be out of reach of the teacher but not enough to avoid contact with others. They swarm around him, voices and bodies inescapable. His steps are controlled, careful to avoid stepping on the shoes of the person in front of him or tripping over nothing for the nth time.

(A few days ago, he accidentally shoved another student while stumbling over his untied shoelaces. Bruises still cover his body. Not all of them are from the fall.)

The others murmur about what they will be seeing. Some guess it will be fun, some boring, others don’t have any opinion and just want to get it all over with. The teachers don’t entertain any perspective. They all just keep walking on, walking on, walking on until they finally reach the gym and sit down in organized lines.

Other children block his view, but he simply sits down and listens to the waves of sound that now echo off the walls. Now broken, the compromise that made the students silent is forgotten about as friends yell to each other loudly across the room. Voices blend together into mush, and he tries to ignore the pang of loneliness that suddenly strikes him while sitting in that orderly crowd, surrounded by others so indifferent and apathetic, waiting in anticipation for when he screws up again and invites another stream of injuries as he curls up and begs for it to stop –  

A single note.

It is discernable but not piercing, confident yet soothing, a tone that makes the room still and the students quiet down around him. He feels lighter, almost weightless, as if its wind could lift him up on its wings and let him fly.

Another voice joins in, and another, and another. High and low, colors mixing and blending together, enveloping the whole area around him in its warm embrace. Collectively, they raise in pitch, unsteady and disjointed before finding each other once again at the center of their note. They grow louder, then softer, and finally louder once again before releasing into silence.

No one speaks. A quiet shuffling of chairs echoes softly, a creaking of shifting weight and footsteps. The space spins in stillness. His lungs sting, and only then does he realize he’s been holding his breath.

He takes in air, and the room _explodes_ with sound.

The ground shakes, his body vibrating from the sheer force of it all, his ears overwhelmed by the crashes and booms and tones that wash over the crowd. Lights flash in his mind, the music echoing and bursting around his skull. The first piece finishes, and the second flits about mischievously, sweeping across the walls in little patterns like dancing fairies in a midnight grove.

The lights reflect onto the players, and for the first time he sees the glistening of golden brass and silver keys, the swaying of the baton in the conductor’s hand, motion erupting into sound as they sway and shape the music together.

They have created something new, something alive, something moving, and he can’t understand it but he desperately finds himself wanting to join in and play and simply _be_.

The final piece rings out, somber, hopeful, he can no longer tell but his heart is pounding and bursting with warmth and emotions he cannot control or comprehend. Everything is shaking, everything is still, he cannot grasp it yet he can reach out and touch all of it at once.

The conductor beats down with a final flourish, and the band mirrors the movement in sound. They hold out a final note, exuberant, determined.

And _let go_.

Quiet.

The teachers begin clapping, some of them standing up from their seats. The children follow suit, yelling and whistling between their fingers. He watches as the conductor nods to the band and places his baton on the podium, moves to the side and turns around to face the audience.

The players stand, and the conductor bows.

His chest constricts. The band seats itself once again as the director walks up to the microphone and takes it off its stand. Light glints off the glasses and the hints of sweat along the neck.

The crowd takes a moment to quiet down. With a smile, the microphone is lifted to use.

“Hello, students! How did you like that performance?”

The room bursts into another round of applause and cheers. He claps with them, bringing his palms together until they sting, red from the force of his movements.

The director chuckles. “I’m glad to hear that! It seems like our enthusiasm toward music has spread to you all as well, which is always something a band loves to see.”

Enthusiasm? He doesn’t know if that’s the right word. It’s there, in the onslaught of feeling that swirls in his gut like a hurricane. But it’s not the only thing, only one.

A seed plants itself in his heart, curling outward and twisting its roots around his ribs.

“Well, you’re in luck, because we’re here today to let you folks put that energy into motion!” At once, the students stand once again with their instruments propped in front of them, resolute figures of brilliance.

Something wells up in his throat.

He swallows.

“These students,” the conductor continues, arms extended outward, “were once in your position. Some had years of previous experience before joining, while others had never even picked up an instrument or learned to read notes on a page. Nevertheless, at some point, all of them were beginners.”

He grips his legs, pants scrunching up, fingers shaking and digging into flesh.

“But today they stand in front of you, performing together as a team. Because first and foremost –” a smile, “– we are a family, and we work together to bring out the best in each other and our music.”

Team. Family.

Something is overflowing.                                                                 

“Though, I guess in this case, talking about something like that isn’t really believable, right? So instead, let’s get to the fun part – instruments!” Someone in the audience whoops. “Exactly! Some of you may have heard a sound today that you’re gravitating toward, while others of you might still be a bit lost. Either way, it’s fine! The fun part of being a novice is that you’ve got lots of possible choices ahead of you.”

The crowd buzzes. A pause, as teachers attempt to hush the excited children.

“I’m sure you’d like to actually see them though, so let’s go down the line, one-by-one. But first, a question: does anyone know the name of the instrument that stood up here and played the first note?”

A girl in the front row raises her hand. “A clarinet?”

“Correct!” A nod. “The students today played specifically on a B-flat clarinet. It’s the most well-known and what most people start on, though there are many other types as well.”

“But why did they stand up?”

“A good question, but please remember to raise your hand,” the conductor says, not unkindly. “It’s the clarinet’s job to tune the band, or in other words, to bring all the instruments together so that they play on the same wavelength. That way, all players can unite and bring out the best sound of the ensemble.”

Two students, dressed head to toe in concert black, step forward. They raise their instruments in unison, silver keys glinting along cylindrical black wood. An image of a leader.

He can _see_.

“For those who are interested in it, this is what a clarinet looks like. It may look tricky because of all the holes and keys, but that’s also the fun part of trying it out!” The conductor turns to them, smiling. “Could you play a high C for us please?”

He leans forward, unconsciously. The students lower the mouthpiece to their lips. He holds his breath, and his lungs hurt, but it’s too loud, everything is too loud, he needs complete silence.

They breathe in.

The note rings, echoes across the room and brushes over the crowd. It vibrates off the walls and in his chest, shaking yet calm. He feels it again, the embrace, the emotions swelling up, the hints of something stirring in the air, and lets himself be swept along its current.

At ten-years old, Sendou Aichi falls in love for the first time.

**Author's Note:**

> hoooooOOOOOOO if this wasn't super self-indulgent before it sure as hell is now
> 
> Unfortunately that also means nothing happens I mean shit what was the plot of this I don't know and you probably don't either
> 
> So uh bye for now I guess I'll try to actually write more characters next time


End file.
